


Oh Shit, Oh Fuck

by nva



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, freckled!naruto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nva/pseuds/nva
Summary: "It was riveting, watching Naruto leave. He wanted to stop him, to convince the man to stay. But for what, exactly? He has nothing left to say, not a single coherent thought crosses his mind, only the longing, perennial desire to not let him go."Two people at vastly different points in life meet by coincidence; what follows afterwards is nothing short of a love story.(FIC ON HIATUS. READ WITH CAUTION.)





	1. Chapter 1

Hatake Kakashi, successful author and college professor, lives a modest life. He keeps himself busy with his multiple jobs and few friends, always accepting their invitations to join them. Secretly, however, Kakashi constantly wishes to flee from the social setting. Sure, he’ll join along on a dinner invitation when offered, or he’ll go to a house-party when called, and even participate in his friend’s drunken rants when they telephone him at four in the morning.

 

He tries to avoid himself as much as possible. He’ll work fifty-hour weeks, he’ll accept every request, he’ll fill his entire schedule—anything to distract his mind, to ease his masked loneliness as much as he can. Lately it’s been getting too much to handle; he really doesn’t have time for this anymore.

 

There’s a voice in his head that traps him, keeping him in the past. It spits venom when it wants to, constantly showing up unannounced as if it belongs here, as if it was meant to be.

 

He wasn’t always like this, though. He’s not sure when the depression started, similar to how humans don’t know the exact day the seasons change without the help of a calendar. From fall to winter, from spring to summer. Somewhere along the years he had stopped fearing mortality. He can’t pinpoint the change like a location on a map, but he knows it was at some point after Obito had died.

 

Or was it after Rin?

 

He can’t remember.

 

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he thinks, trying to blink the exhaustion away. He’s standing outside of Amaterasu, a popular yet quiet bookstore in downtown Chiyoda that’s owned by non other than Itachi Uchiha. After a couple long weeks of email forwards and time-consuming phone calls, he’s finally gotten Itachi to sell his newly released novel. His CEO, Tsunade Senju, had lectured about wasting time with Amaterasu.

 

_“Don’t get me wrong, I like the Uchiha’s and want them to do well, but why’re **you** so persistent on signing with them? We can get the top stores in all of Japan to beg for the rights to sell your books, we don’t need one tiny establishment.” _

 

She’s right, of course. She always is. But he’s never been in it for the money, that’s just a bonus. The truth of the matter is that Itachi inherited the store after his father had died a few years ago, and Kakashi’s been wanting to lend a helping hand since. He felt guilty that he’s been so busy, the thought of his friend always slipping through the cracks of his mind as each day begins and another ends.

 

It wasn’t until a couple weeks ago when he’d went along with his Asuma to a bar, unknowing of the actual significance behind it all. Kakashi thought it was another Friday night invitation to go drinking, until he walked in and a choir of happy birthday’s were shrieking in his ear. He’d forgotten, of course—like usual.

 

Something caught his eye then. At the end of the alcohol-soaked counter was Itachi Uchiha, stuffed in between bundles of neon-colored balloons and drunken toddlers, smiling at him as if no time had passed at all. They talked for hours that night, smiling and teasing as if they were still in their prime. They prattled on about their fears and dreams as if it was six years earlier again and they were buried in the shade of their old ivy-mantled University.

 

Itachi had told him all about how he made his little brother manager of Amaterasu. He showed Kakashi his brother’s baby pictures on his phone again, listing off the exact dates and times each were taken as easily as reciting the alphabet. He spoke of his mother and how she’s faring, how her husband’s death keeps her stuck in the past, a time where she wasn’t filled with grief.

 

It was then that the thought occurred to Kakashi, between the hours of catching up and ounces of alcohol consumption, that it was time he’d finally help his near-forgotten friend.

 

And that’s how he ended up here, at ten in the evening, gazing appreciatively at the over-the-top display of his book through the store’s window. What catches his eye the most is the giant canvas behind the hardcover, so finely painted and detailed that Kakashi can’t look away from it. He’s impressed with how well it draws attention to the actual product—it was absolutely striking. However, he’s never known Itachi as a painter.

 

 _Then again_ , he thinks. _He’s Itachi._

 

He walks in wordlessly, not caring about the closed sign hanging on the door. The lights were turned on inside, signaling that someone was still here after hours. He wants to thank Itachi in person and, if he’s lucky, get to see what his little brother looks like when he’s not two-years old anymore.

 

From somewhere in the back of Amaterasu, he hears something hit the floor, and then, a string of curses. Curiosity getting the better of him, he follows the noise like a trail of breadcrumbs. He rounds the corner of the last bookshelf steadily, and his wandering gaze catches on a young man standing on a step ladder. His hair is golden under the yellow lights of the store.

 

He can see from the side that his apron is absolutely _covered_ in dried paint, mimicking more of a used coloring book than professional attire. He notices splotches of paint near the pockets, resembling the same colors as the freshly-painted canvas.

 

He has found his artist.

 

He observes that the employee's just a tad too short to reach the top shelf, even with the support from the cheap-looking step-ladder. Did the store not supply rolling ladders? This was a two-story establishment, what on earth was Itachi thinking by not offering basic essentials? Did the Uchiha not have the money?

 

The man is on the very tip of his toes, tongue poking out just slightly in concentration as he tries to keep his balance. He’s so close, too, the book was almost secure on the shelf, just a little bit more…

  
  
“C’mon, you bastard, get up there!” He overhears the employee mumble to himself.

 

Kakashi walks towards him to offer his help when suddenly, the employee starts to wobble. The young man’s face contorts in panic as he falls backwards, and Kakashi's focus is slowed. He can envision the future well before the employee screams, can picture the blood pooling around his head like a glob of ink in water. It would over in less than five seconds, just like Rin, because time doesn't slow down for anybody. There are no seconds chances. 

 

He races towards him in hopes that he can catch the man before his sunshine hair meets grim tile. He holds his arms out as he flings himself towards him, adrenaline racing through him like a drug. 

 

He makes it, just in time.

 

Kakashi instantly wraps his arms around the young man as they roll across the floor, crashing into the other bookshelf lining the wall. The wooden shelves shake from the impact and he cradles the employee’s head like an egg against his chest. He winces achingly as a particularly sharp corner of a hard-cover strikes his nape.

 

When no more seem to fall, he deems it safe to release the clumsy man from his grasp. He places his palms on the floor to hold himself up, his hands on each side of the employee's head. Kakashi looks at him deeply, trying to judge the damage. He finds no scrapes, no broken bones, only an abundance of freckles. They were similar to stars in the countryside, and Kakashi’s certain that it would take him minutes to count all of them. Kakashi notices his wide-eyes, observing him, too.

 

And holy shit, those _eyes._ Kakashi thinks he could write an entire series just of those azure-colored irises. They were extravagant, gleaming with such purity and beauty.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice low with concern.

 

The employee gulps and nods his head slowly, as if he’s not sure himself. He gets up wordlessly, reaching a hand out for the man to take. His hand was fire against Kakashi’s, skin soft with delicacy.

 

When he stands in front of him, Kakashi realizes just how short the man actually is, the top of his head only coming up to his shoulders. He looks down at his paint-filled apron and skims his eyes over the colorful name tag.

 

_Naruto? What a silly name._

 

“Thank you for catching me.”  Naruto mumbles, bowing without a hint of grace.

 

“Please, none of that, Naruto-san.” Kakashi insists. He waits for him to raise his head. “I’m just pleased that you’re okay.”

 

He watches Naruto stumble on what to say. He looks at everywhere but Kakashi, his cheeks staining red. He stutters and stops, hesitation apparent.

 

“Did you perhaps.. want to purchase a book?” Naruto manages to ask, smiling sheepishly.

 

For a moment, he’s blinded with an almost uncanny resemblance of Obito. It makes him choke in the silence, a punch-ready fist suddenly locked around his scarred heart.

 

“Maybe another time.” 

 

“O-okay.”

 

“I’m actually looking for an Uchiha. Are any of them here?”

 

“No, sorry.. they went home for the night. We closed an hour ago, I was just finishing up some leftover work.”

 

As Kakashi’s about to speak, his lips already forming the beginning syllables, Naruto’s phone begins to ring. Kakashi closes his mouth, deeming the interruption as the perfect excuse to leave.

 

He waves goodbye silently, turning on his heels and quickly walking away towards the direction of the exit. There’s a part of him that thinks he shouldn’t have come, that he should’ve walked away as soon as he saw the closed sign in the window. But the other part knows, in some way or another, that he’s altered the future. He’s certain that the consequences will find him when he’s least expecting it; he can already envision the nightmares, can hear Obito's screams in the hollow cave of his mind.

 

“Hey, wait.” He calls out, the ear-piercing ringtone suddenly coming to a halt.

 

 _Don’t stop, keep walking._  

 

Kakashi freezes mid-step, turning his head.

 

“Would you like to get some coffee? I’d like to repay you if you’ll let me.”

 

_Don’t say yes. You don’t want this; go find someone else to satisfy your loneliness._

 

“Sure.”

 

_Are you that desperate?_

 

“Awesome! Let me get my things—“ He stops, and his enthusiastic tone falters, “hey, would you mind helping me clean this up first?”

 

He’s sure that every other person in existence would’ve declined and walked out—no, actually, they wouldn’t have even come to the store in the first place. But Kakashi’s an idiot, and idiots never learn their lesson.  

 

They pick up the books in silence, elbows bumping into one another every now and then. He takes care of the books that Naruto can’t reach, while the other works on the lower shelves, humming whenever he feels like it. The sound of it keeps Kakashi calm, grounded, makes him nostalgic. Of what? He doesn’t know.

 

“I think that’s it.” Naruto says, searching for anything out of place. He rolls his neck and sighs, stretches his back. “Let me go get my stuff, I’ll be out in a sec!”

 

And now Kakashi’s alone, trying not to question his actions (and possibly, his motives) while Naruto’s in the backroom. He can see him through the crack of the door as he bundles up in his scarf and coat. 

 

_You can still leave before it’s too late. No one’s stopping you._

Kakashi doesn’t obey. He stands there, pretending his feet were glued to the wood beneath him.

 

Naruto skips out of the room, shutting off light switches as he passes them. A bag is slung over his shoulder, his bangs messily framing his smile-rimmed eyes as he looks at Kakashi.

 

”My treat.” He insists, holding his frog wallet proudly in the air.

 

Kakashi laughs under his scarf. 

  

Naruto whirls the keys around his finger behind him, closing the door and turning around to lock it. “So, my guardian angel, what’s your name anyways?” 

 

“Hatake, Kakashi.”

 

Naruto’s keys drop from his grasp, clattering awkwardly on the concrete. Naruto doesn’t move, his posture wary.

 

Kakashi doesn’t boast at the reaction that his name has on the man. There was nothing amazing about it, regardless of what others thought. He doesn’t see himself as worthy of such a reaction; he’s only an author, a professor. He thinks he should’ve used a pseudonym, should’ve called himself “ _The Scarecrow”._ It would make life a lot more interesting.  

 

Naruto cranes his neck to look at him behind, eyeing him suspiciously.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really.” He frowns, picking up Naruto's keys for him. Naruto takes them cautiously. 

 

Kakashi leaves him standing there, walking towards the café. He can hear Naruto try to catch up, his racing footsteps echoing throughout the empty street.

 

A bell rings above their heads as Kakashi opens the café door. The shop is thick with the scent of coffee beans and desserts, he can taste the sweetness in the air. He doesn’t particularly like it. Naruto’s eyes are closed, a satisfied smile adorning his freckled complexion.

 

“It smells delicious, right? I love coming here on my breaks, they always make the best muffins.”

 

Kakashi doesn’t want to reply to that.

 

“You find a place for us to sit and I’ll go put our order in. What’cha want?”

 

“Small, black coffee. Nothing else.”

 

Naruto gives him a quick face of disgust.

 

“Ew. Are you serious?”

 

Kakashi tilts his head to the side, curious towards the reason for insulting his taste. What was wrong with plain coffee?

 

Naruto gives up and walks towards the counter, shaking his head like he’s heard something ridiculous, as if enjoying coffee without sugar was preposterous and evil. Kakashi feels a little weird about it now.

 

A few minutes later, Naruto comes back with two drinks and two plates of cookies. Kakashi wants to groan loudly. He doesn’t want to eat them, but he also doesn’t want to tell Naruto that he won’t.

 

_See? Should’ve listened to me._

On second thought, Naruto’s thoughtful and kind, so Kakashi decides he’ll suffer through it.

Naruto sits opposite of him. With a grin plastered on his face he explains, “Okay, so I figured you didn’t like sweet stuff since you enjoy black coffee—which is _gross_ by the way—so I got you these earl grey tea cookies instead.”

 

“…Tea cookies?”

 

Naruto takes one and bites into it, crunching loudly.

 

“Yeah. They’re not really sweet or anything, I think they’re more for dipping into your drink or some shit.” He says between bites.

 

Kakashi is taken aback slightly at the consideration Naruto had for others. It makes the older man smile, unable to stop himself as he takes a bite out of one.

 

Naruto’s right, they aren’t very sweet. It’s the perfect mixture for him, tasty and satisfying without the unnecessary cups of sugar tossed in.

 

“Thank you.” Kakashi says with honesty.

 

Naruto simply smiles in return.

 

“Also, thank you for the lovely display you created for my book. It looked like a lot of time and care was put into it.”

 

Naruto grins wider beneath his cup, setting it down heavily on the table top. “It’s not a problem. I really enjoy your works, so when my manager told me we’d be selling your new book, I got _so_ excited! I told him I’d do the display by myself as soon as the shipments came in and— _oh my god._ ” He stops, sudden fear and realization set into his features as all the pieces started to click together. “Wait. _That’s why_ you were at Amaterasu!” He points a cookie towards the direction of the bookstore.

 

“I didn’t know you liked my work.” 

 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, very funny, but you can’t tell my manager about what happened tonight, okay? He’s going to ask you if you like the setup at some point and you’ll tell him whatever, just please for the love of _god,_ don’t speak of the ladder incident.” Naruto pleads.

 

Interesting, so he was fearful of Itachi’s little brother. Kakashi was suspicious. What would Sasuke do, fire him? It’s not as if he had fallen on purpose, and wasn’t it Itachi’s fault in the first place for not having proper equipment?

 

Something isn’t adding up.

 

 “Speaking of that, does your store not have rolling ladders, Naruto-san? I saw that you have the tracks set up for them.”

 

Naruto winces at that.

 

“We did have them.. but the owner wanted this new line from this interior designer. The shipment’s arriving tomorrow.”

 

“And the manager made you still restock the top shelves anyways, he couldn’t wait until tomorrow? I can report them for employee abuse.”  He wants to call Itachi and arrange a meeting with his little brother.  He grips his coffee cup with tense fingertips.

 

“No!” He exclaims, his hands flying out wildly in protest. “No no, my manager didn’t make me do this. I uh—” he hesitates, “I wanted to make less work for myself tomorrow, so I thought I could get some of it done tonight.”

 

Kakashi pauses, trying to make sure that he was understanding him correctly. “No one ordered you to restock the shelves?” He asks, slowly.

 

Naruto shakes his head.

 

“So, you’re just inexplicably mindless, then.”

 

His blue doe-eyes look down at his own hands with subtle sensibility, and Kakashi goes rigid in his seat.   
  
  


Why did he have to say that? 

 

As he was about to apologize, something unexpected happens.

 

Naruto starts to chuckle.

 

Kakashi raises an eyebrow, and Naruto’s chuckles form into whole-hearted, full-blown laughter. Kakashi looks around briefly to see the humor, but he’s left thoughtless.

 

“I’m sorry, but that’s the nicest way someone has ever told me that I’m a fucking idiot.” 

 

He feels a comfortable warmth fill his chest, affection blossoming through his veins every second he spends with him. He wants to save this moment, to bookmark it and come back anytime he wants to experience this congenial and wild thing called _Naruto_ again.

 

“How old are you, Naruto-san?”

 

“Why?” He asks sharply. It was as if Kakashi had crossed an invisible line. It puts him on the edge of his seat, sudden tension claws its way to his throat. Was he being creepy? 

 

“Can I not know your age?”

 

“You can. If you guess right.”

 

Kakashi drinks his coffee, letting the bitterness keep him grounded. He stares at the freckled boy, observing and calculating. He can’t be more than twenty-five, Kakashi thinks. He still has doe-like eyes, and there’s an innocence within them that speaks of a recent youth. Also, who carries a frog wallet?

 

“Nineteen?”

 

Naruto rolls his eyes dramatically.

 

“Wait, younger or older?” 

 

His words are low, hushed between his lips and a cup of coffee. “You figure it out.”

 

Kakashi doesn’t know why, but he speculates that Naruto’s age is a soft spot for him. He seems guarded, almost as if he’s certain that he knows what Kakashi’s thinking. 

 

“Fine. Twenty-four.”

 

Naruto widens his eyes in surprise. He claps his hands in mock applause and teases, “Ooo, so close! I’m turning twenty-four next month. I’ll still give you credit, though.”

 

He’s fallen for Naruto’s teasing, getting sucked in the same way a black hole bends light. He wants to know Naruto’s soft spots, his stories, how he likes his tea in the morning. He imagines them all being laid out like an open-book, begging him to turn the pages. He bites his bottom lip, unsure how to handle his own thoughts.

 

“Why’d you make me guess?” 

 

“Because no one normally thinks I’m older than a teenager. I’m pretty short if you haven’t noticed, so apparently that means I have to get carded every time I want a drink.”

 

“What’s wrong with that? I think a lot of people would be flattered if they were asked to show ID.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true,” he takes a bite out of a cookie, “except they still refuse to serve me. They think that I made like, a fake ID or something. Plus, no one wants to flirt with me except weird old men. Do you know how annoying that is?”

 

Kakashi doesn’t know if he qualifies as a weird old man.

 

“Well, I wasn’t judging by your height.” He points out. Naruto’s eyebrows jut downwards in confusion, small creases forming in between. Kakashi continues, “It was your eyes, actually. They’re large and puffy-like, and it made me think of my friend who only talks about, ehm, youth.”

 

Naruto’s laugh is wild and sharp, “My eyes? That’s a new one, but I like it better than the others!”

 

Kakashi lets Naruto’s infectious laughter soar through him. He rests his chin on his palm and says, voice no more than a whisper, “I like them.”

 

“What, the cookies?”

 

“Your eyes,” he corrects, “they’re captivating.”

 

He watches as Naruto stops laughing, his face flushing a lovely shade of rose. Naruto doesn’t look away from him, caught in between Kakashi’s stare and his alluring nature.

 

“I like your height, too. It’s very cute.”

 

And watching Naruto fidget in his seat, as if he suddenly turned shy, was the key to it all. It sends quick pulses of infatuation through Kakashi’s veins, making him hold his breath from the sudden electrifying feeling that swallows him whole.

 

Naruto hasn’t said anything, looking uncertain of how to reply. He’s not turning him down, at least.

 

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  

 

Naruto looks down at his plate, avoiding the older man’s gaze as he quietly asks, “You think I’m cute?”

 

“Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No.” He says after a moment.

 

“Does that mean I can call you Naruto-chan?”

 

 “Absolutely not!” He shouts, throwing a half-eaten cookie at Kakashi’s face.

 

Kakashi dodges it, of course.

 

“Naruto-chan.” He drawls out in a sickly-sweet voice.

 

“I will _literally,_ reach over this table and punch you.” 

 

“Naruto-kun?”

 

“That’s… better.” Naruto says.

 

They bicker about each other’s tastes humorously, entertaining one another with colorful insults and stories of the different occasions that liquid has come out from Naruto’s nose. It was easy with Naruto.falling into casual banter, laughing, simply _being_.

 

He excuses himself to the bathroom, and Kakashi eyes the way he walks. He wonders, briefly, just how much of Naruto swinging his hips was on purpose, and how much was simply the natural movement of his body.

 

Naruto’s phone vibrates against the table, lighting up in demand. He finishes his drink, letting the low buzz of the incoming call fade out.

 

And then it rings again.

 

Naruto doesn’t come out of the bathroom until the fifth unanswered call. Naruto smiles as he sits down, not noticing the notifications of the missed calls lighting up his screen.

 

“Someone named ‘Teme’ has been calling you non-stop. It seems urgent.” 

 

Naruto frowns and picks up his phone, eyes scanning over the bright light. His phone only buzzes once this time, signaling an incoming text. To Kakashi’s surprise, Naruto turns the phone off and throws it in his bag, his face devoid of emotion.

 

“Not important, then?”

 

“Just my annoying roommate. He acts like a mother-hen sometimes.” He grimaces.

 

“Wondering where you are?”

 

“Yeah, not like he needs to, though. He just doesn’t have anything better to do. Honestly, he pisses me off.”

 

“Move out?” 

 

“Trying, but most places ask for around 450,000 yen upfront. I’m pretty close, but I still have to save for a couple more months.”

 

Kakashi stiffens at the fact that Naruto’s goal wasn’t even an eighth of his savings account. He would write a check for him right now if he could, but he’s fairly certain that Naruto would slap him with Kakashi’s own checkbook if he tried. It’s a shame, too, because Kakashi doesn’t give a shit about money. He only uses his money on others, never wanting to indulge in the rich life for himself. It always left a sour taste on his tongue, the way he’s overly-paid for doing nothing except what he loves most: writing and teaching.

 

He doesn’t want Naruto to feel uncomfortable, so he changes the subject, respectively trying to avoid prying further into his life.

 

“How long have you been painting for?”

 

“Since I was a kid, I guess? My godfather gave me my dad’s calligraphy set one day and he tried to show me how it worked and such. I was really young though, so I didn’t enjoy calligraphy as much as I enjoyed finger-painting.”

 

“Your father’s a calligrapher?”

 

“Sorta. He was more of a free-lance artist, always taking commissions and such. He never had a concrete job, but his work was amazing.”

 

Kakashi doesn’t want to assume, but he thinks the frequent usage of past-tense speaks louder than Naruto having to verbally announce it. Kakashi knows what it sounds like to hint around death.

 

“Are you interested in art as a career?”

 

“I want to be a book designer.” He says in a daze, tracing a fingertip along the table. Naruto’s eyes are unfocused, yet the muscle memory of painting is still flowing through his fingertips. It was then that Kakashi knew, with blinding realization, that Naruto doesn’t want to paint--he _needs_ to paint. It was the same as what writing meant for Kakashi, the same as the unexplainable desire to breathe, eat, sleep.

 

They stayed like that for some time, silently, the two of them, one observing and calculating, the other locked in a world of imagination. They were lost amongst one another. To them, it felt like reality was only an option, one that neither of them wanted to partake in. They were floating desires, adrift and forgotten until the reminder of the present would bring them back down to earth.

 

He can hear heels on tile, getting closer with every step. It brings him out of his trance-like state.

 

“I’m sorry, but we’ll be closing in five minutes. If you guys want to order anything else I’d be happy to make it, but it’ll have to be to-go.” The barista bows apologetically.

 

Kakashi thanks her and the barista bows once more, dismissing herself towards the counter. He checks his watch, hiding his surprise at how much time had passed by. He hasn’t heard the voice in his head protest. It’s been so quiet. So eerily, pleasantly, quiet.

 

Naruto leans in across the table and whispers with a teasing grin, “You know, I’ve never stayed here until closing before.”

 

Kakashi doesn’t know if there’s a deeper meaning behind that statement. He thinks maybe, possibly, but he somehow doubts that Naruto is one for double-meanings.

 

Naruto scrambles from his seat and skips to the coat rack, Kakashi silently following behind. Smoothly, he takes Naruto’s coat and holds it open for him with grace, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. Naruto awkwardly mumbles a quick thank you, slipping his arms into the jacket while he lets Kakashi do the rest. He takes his orange scarf (which would normally be an _atrocious_ color, but Kakashi thinks it looks good on him) and wraps it around Naruto’s thin, soft neck. He ties a French knot with a subtle flourish, not meeting his eyes as he does.

 

They leave together, the bell chiming above their heads at their departure. He watches Naruto look back towards the counter.

 

“Have a good evening!” He calls to the barista, waving his hand wildly as the door shuts behind them. Kakashi smiles at the sincerity in his voice. He imagines what kindness in its purist form would look like. He pictures it to be a yellow, maybe orange color. Envisions a sunflower instead. He imagines the autumn wind taking it up in violent gusts, spreading Naruto’s kindness among the rest of the world.

 

Kakashi stands there, allowing the cold to bite at his open-skin. It sobers him up achingly-fast, suddenly hyper-aware of the anxiety racing along with the caffeine in his system.

“So uh, could I get your number?” Naruto asks, swinging his bag back and forth mindlessly. "For business purposes, y'know. Future book designer and all that." 

 

"Business, you say?" 

 

 Kakashi pulls out a business card and holds it out gently towards him. He takes it carefully with both hands, as if it could rip in two with the slightest flick of the wrist. 

 

“That’s my personal number, so don’t be afraid to contact me. I’d like to hear from you again.”

 

Naruto nods with a tight-lipped smile, still gripping the card beneath his fingers. Naruto opens and closes his cupid-bow lips, eyes jutting around the empty streets anxiously every time he meets Kakashi’s stare. 

 

“I’m going to take off, then. Unless you wanted a ride home?” 

 

“The bus is coming.” Naruto mumbles.

 

“I’m sure it is, but would you like _me_ to drive you home?”

 

“The bus.. is coming?” 

 

Kakashi twirls his keys around his finger, turns, and motions with his free hand for Naruto to follow him. He doesn’t need to look to know that Naruto’s hot on his heel, he can hear the soft drag of Naruto’s feet shuffling against the concrete.

 

“Where do you live, Naruto-kun?”

 

“You know Kioshi Park? I live like, directly on the opposite side.”

 

His car was parked a store down from the bookstore, seeming almost invisible in the black of night if not for the streetlights around it. He unlocks it remotely, and the machine lights up in return. He opens the passenger door for Naruto, and next to him, he hears Naruto take a breath.

 

“You drive _this_ in the city?” He asks, disbelief in his voice. He sits down inside the posh vehicle, instantly running his hands along the onyx-colored interior.

 

“It’s a company car. I don’t really care what happens to it.” Kakashi admits, leaning over Naruto to take his seat belt. He buckles it securely around the man’s waist and closes the passenger door before Naruto can react.

 

“Is your company hiring?”

 

He slides in the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition without falter. “Maybe,” Kakashi starts. He looks to Naruto now, smirk firmly in place and one hand on the wheel, “But what’s your sell?”

 

Naruto doesn’t look like how knows how to reply. Kakashi pulls smoothly away from the curb, deeming silence as his answer. He thinks of Naruto working next to him, having his own little desk, his paints and artwork scattered around the building. It gives him a warm feeling, makes his body relax into a daydream of peacefulness, a daydream of sunshine.

 

“Are you asking me to have sex with you?”

 

Kakashi stares open-mouthed at Naruto, expression and posture frozen under the intensity of azure-colored eyes.

 

“Where in the _hell_ did you get that from?” Kakashi shouts. He doesn't mean to raise his voice, it's simply an automatic reflex towards the sudden accusation. 

 

“You asked me!”

 

“I asked ‘what’s your sell’, not _that_!”

 

“Yeah, sell! Like--” He continues by making very vague yet specific hand gestures. 

 

Kakashi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Maybe he _was_ too old for Naruto, there seems to be too vast of a difference in comprehension levels.

 

“I was asking about your strong qualities, Naruto, such as if you’ve marketed or managed a team before.” Kakashi explains, turning on his blinker.

 

“Oh,” Naruto says, “well, neither of those. I’ve only worked small jobs besides Amaterasu.”

 

He leans his head back and sighs silently. He doesn’t know how to respond, and he doesn’t particularly want to, either. They take a right and drive down the long road in silence, save for the radio playing softly in the background.

 

Naruto’s the first one to break the silence. “Honestly, I thought you were trying to be smooth or something. And there’s been a lot of stories on the news recently about sexual harassment in the workplace, so you can’t blame me.”

 

“We’re not in the workplace. We’re not in _any_   workplace. I’m trying to drive you home so that we can _avoid_ you getting assaulted in the first place.”

 

From his peripheral vision, he catches Naruto looking out the window with arms crossed. Had he offended him, or was he feeling embarrassed from his false accusation?

 

“I wouldn’t have agreed to it, anyways.” 

 

“You wouldn’t have agreed to the imaginary scenario depicting me trying to sexually assault you, you mean?”

 

“Yeah, I was totally ready to break your nose.” Naruto asserts with confidence.

 

The traffic light ahead turns red, and the vehicle slowly comes to a stop.

 

“Break my nose?”

 

“Mhm. Like this— “, he juts his wrist out and forces the heel of his palm upwards in front of Kakashi’s chin. “and then— “, he brings his palm directly under the older man’s nose, hovering just above his lips. “— _Bam!_ Broken nose!”

 

Kakashi can feel the warmth radiating from Naruto’s skin, his delicate wrist only centimeters away from his lips. Naruto’s mouth is crinkling at the corners, cheeks pushing out in response from trying to hold in his laughter. The light finally turns, and Kakashi steps on the gas pedal.

 

“You seem experienced.” 

 

“I’ve had a fair number of rude customers in my years.” He crosses his arm with pride, seductively smiling as if he just received a compliment.

 

And Kakashi can’t help but laugh at that. He’s smiling wide, lost in the moment and flying high with Naruto’s own chuckles from the passenger seat. He hasn’t felt this energized in a long time, not since Obito—not since _then_.

 

He doesn’t want to think about that now, though. 

 

He slows down as he spots the entrance sign for Kioshi Park, his headlights shining off the metal of the insignia. Naruto points a finger, “I’m on the left. The big complex there.”

 

Kakashi pulls up and parallel parks in one fluid motion. He shuts his lights off immediately, not wanting to create unwanted gossip in Naruto’s neighborhood. He listens to the sound of a seat belt instantly unbuckling, fabric being rustled from the floor as Naruto gathers his belongings. The younger man takes no time in slowing down, seeming urgent to leave as fast as he came.

 

Kakashi doesn’t know what to say.

 

_Goodbye?_

_Will I see you again?_

_Call me?_

 

Before he can make up his mind, the car alerts Kakashi of the passenger door opening. It was riveting, watching Naruto leave. He wanted to stop him, to convince the man to stay. But for what, exactly? He has nothing left to say, not a single coherent thought crosses his mind, only the longing, perennial desire to not let him go.

 

“Thanks for the ride, Kakashi-san!” 

 

Naruto waves dorkily at him as he walks around the car. Kakashi waves back despite Naruto not being able to see through the tint of the windows. He watches him walk away, mesmerized by the way he can flutter about without a care in the world.

 

Then, he spots a man sitting alone in front of the complex. He has a dark look adorning his face, black hair hanging over his unreadable features. He’s watching Naruto, waiting for him to come closer.

 

 _Don’t touch him,_ Kakashi thinks, he threatens; _I wont let you._

 

Kakashi’s about to step out, fingers already on the handle. Fear clouds his rationalization, the weight in his chest bringing him further into the racing winds of panic. He can taste tragedy on his tongue, can already start mouthing the words that he dreads to bring to the surface. _Obito, Obito, Obito._

 

Time slows as he watches Naruto skip directly towards the man, his sunshine hair bouncing with every step. Naruto stops in front of him and his hands fly wildly in the air as he talks, familiarity flowing from his fingertips.

 

A friend, then?

 

The man stands up—a painful hyper awareness stirs inside him at the fact of just how physically close he is to Naruto. Naruto, who was just in his car, safe and sound and _warm_ , says something that makes the stranger-friend glance towards the vehicle. His face distorts into an ugly expression.

 

As the two walks away, the man places his hand on the small of Naruto’s back. Kakashi stops breathing, frozen in the moment. He stares at the moment of intimacy, wide-eyed and full of crippling doubt.

 

Then, just as quickly, the man turns his head and stares threateningly at him through the car’s window. Kakashi knows the stranger can’t see him, there’s no possible way he could.

 

But the man still saw, somehow. He stares as if he could see right through Kakashi, a warning of the present, and possibly, the future. The hair on his arms stands tall, fingers growing cold on the steering wheel. His head is hot with adrenaline at the pure possessive and feral glare that was being thrown his way, a reflexive response towards the calling of a fight.

 

But then Naruto wiggles out of the man’s flirty embrace and slaps him upside the head despite the height difference. The stranger-friend rubs his hand at the spot of impact, standing there in a daze as he watches Naruto walk in front of him.

 

Kakashi silently laughs to himself in the dark, remembering Naruto’s earlier conversation about his seemingly annoying roommate. This was the mother-hen, then. His body relaxes, his grip on the wheel loosens. He lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

 

There was no competition, no _real_ threat.

 

Still, there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he couldn’t shake off as he drove home. A prickling sensation along his spine that kept him on edge, swaying his attention at every turn.

 

He visualizes that predatory glare, the intimacy of his embrace.

 

The realization hits him when he’s lying in bed, blankets thrown astray from the wild movement of his internal breakthrough, that he most definitely was _not_ just Naruto’s roommate.

 

He was Naruto’s ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for short Naruto. Also, uh, freckles. 
> 
> Don't hate me?
> 
>  
> 
> ★ Chiyoda is a ward in Central Tokyo.  
> ★★ Re-posting my response regarding Kakashi's work: "Kakashi's a writer.. so about 20 hours is just spent at home or somewhere else writing his own works. It's still a job but he's not 'on the clock', if that makes sense!"  
> ★★★ Kakashi's height is ~185 cm, Naruto's is ~164 cm.


	2. Ulterior Motive

“Who was that in the car?” Sasuke asks, holding the door open for Naruto.

 

 _Someone who’s interested in me_ , he wants to say, or maybe, _the hottest guy in the entire fucking universe,_ but he thinks of something better. He thinks of the truth, a name that Sasuke won’t believe.

 

“Hatake, Kakashi.”

 

Sasuke scoffs, rolling his eyes at the name. 

 

“Fine, don’t tell me.”

 

Naruto smirks as he walks past him. He kicks his shoes off in the entryway, each one flying haphazardly close to the pristine-painted walls. Sasuke picks them up and places them in the getabako neatly, right below his own.

 

He’s always cleaning up after him, always finding ways to try and make Naruto’s life easier.

 

He stops and eyes him over his shoulder, visibly fuming. Sasuke catches his glare and holds it. His eyes are as sharp as the fingernails that Naruto digs into his own palms; one false move, and the atmosphere will change in a heartbeat. He’s the man with the ironed-out blazers and smile so perfect that you wonder if the dentist pays _him_ instead.

 

And here he is, in all his setting-sun glory, picking up Naruto’s shoes with careful precision and—

 

_Affection?_

 

It makes Naruto want to scream.

 

Instead, he turns away from Sasuke’s competitive stare with a huff and flops his exhausted body on the couch. He stretches his arms with a sigh.

 

“Why are you watching the news again?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I think it makes you cranky, always watching shitty news.”

 

“I’m not cranky.” Sasuke replies, lifting Naruto’s legs in the air to make room for himself. He lets them down gently in his lap.

 

Naruto moves one of his small feet to Sasuke’s shoulder and pushes his weight against it. He curls his toes into his shirt-sleeve, like a kitten kneading it's bed.

 

“Yeah, sure—and I’m not annoying.”

 

Sasuke takes his other foot and holds it in his hands securely, tenderly. Naruto jumps slightly from his cold fingers, but he doesn’t pull away.

 

“Your hands are fucking _freezing.”_

“Sorry,” he says, and then, “Did you ever finish your painting?”

 

He moves his fingers in between Naruto’s toes, massaging the soft skin without hesitation. The touch is comforting, unnecessary yet needed.

 

“Mhm, I’m satisfied with it.” He grabs the remote from the coffee table and changes the channel to a game-show.

 

“You didn’t get any paint on the walls like last time, did you?”

 

“Oi, I told you already, last time wasn’t even my fault.”

 

“It never is.” He sighs, making a noncommittal hand gesture at the television, “I hate this—whatever this is. Give me the remote.”

 

“It’s called a game-show, teme. It’s _funny_.”

 

“Whatever. Give it.” He orders, holding out his open palm.

 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.” 

 

For a while, it’s quiet.

 

In a lot of ways, the two of them fit like this. Neither romantic nor platonic. This was their routine, a routine that was set without either of them ever mentioning it.

 

Naruto was relaxed, his eyelids fluttering as he’s lost within a daydream of silver hair and deep-hooded eyes. He snickers to himself quietly as he remembers how Kakashi had gotten so flustered by his question in the car.

 

Sasuke notices. 

 

“Seriously, who were you with?”

 

Naruto doesn’t answer, he doesn’t want to get into an argument tonight. He just wants to chill, maybe get something to eat. What should he eat? There’s left over noodles from last night, he thinks, I could heat that up with some pork? Could add cabbage, maybe some rice on the side.

 

“Dobe,” he says.

 

“Teme,” says Naruto, not even glancing in his direction. He tries to pay attention to the television, attempts to end the conversation before it can even start.

 

“Why’re you being so secretive?”

 

“I’m not. I just don’t want to deal with your ridiculous, jealous mindset.”

 

“I won’t get jealous.”

 

“Yeah, you will, and I’ll have to deal with it for the next week.”

 

“I won’t,” he repeats, “I promise.”

 

Naruto gives a sideways glance at that. _Promise,_ he says. Yeah, alright. Sure. Whatever you fucking say, Sasuke.

 

“Like I told you before, I was with Kakashi-san. He came in to check out the display and we went for coffee after.”

 

At first he seems surprised, almost taken aback. But then he spots Naruto’s scrutinizing gaze and his expression flattens, his frown turning into nothing more than simple indifference.

 

Naruto raises a brow at him, his own grin tugging at his lips every second that Sasuke continues to fake his own composure.

 

“I’m not jealous.” Sasuke insists, avoiding Naruto’s eyes.

 

And Naruto was fine with that, even if Sasuke’s lying to himself. _Fake it till you make it,_ he thinks, _or something like that._

 

“Are you going to see him again?”

 

“I don’t know. Hopefully.” Naruto answers, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, “He gave me his number, so, I think?”

Sasuke scoffs, and Naruto catches it. It makes him tense up instantly because he fucking _knows_ what that face means. He knows what’s about to come next. Sasuke’s an instigator, a fighter. He loves an argument almost as much as he loves winning them.

 

“Funny,” he says, his tongue coated in unhidden malice, “I didn’t know you were into older men.”

 

“I’m _not_ ,” Naruto emphasizes, “just _him.”_

 

And it’s true, he’s never been attracted to vast age differences before. He’s never had a thing for the mid-life crisis stage. But there was something about Kakashi that kept Naruto infatuated; something that kept him tied up and vulnerable. He thinks it’s the scar, or maybe the way he carries himself. Or, possibly, it’s because he was different than Sasuke. In every way.                            

 

The hand on Naruto’s foot grows still. It makes him want to shake it off. They don’t speak until the end of the game-show. Naruto gets up first, announces he’s going to take a shower. The silent question that’s burning in Sasuke’s gaze does not go unnoticed.

 

_Can I come?_

 

Naruto doesn’t look back when he closes the bathroom door. He locks it roughly behind him, signaling a loud and clear,

 

_Hell no._

 

 

**() _Three days later._**

 

 

Naruto wakes to his alarm with a groan. He slams his palm on the snooze button and sits up, blinking the sleepiness away from his vision. Sasuke had kept him working until midnight, had ordered him to re-label the prices on every book from the clearance rack. And then some.

 

Why in the _fuck_   would he assign such a trivial task when they’re going to reset the clearance line next week?

 

Because Sasuke’s a closeted sadist, obviously.

 

With drowsy eyes and flimsy limbs, he shuffles to the bathroom to get ready for the day. He turns the shower on and brushes his teeth in the sink as the water heats.

 

If he’s being honest with himself, he could’ve gotten the job done faster. He would’ve been out hours earlier if he hadn’t kept staring out the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of white eyelashes and pale skin.

 

He doesn’t notice how roughly he’s brushing until a trickle of fresh blood escapes from the side of his mouth. He grimaces at the taste, copper mixed with peppermint. He turns on the faucet and spits, and the stark contrast of red on porcelain makes him blink. He’s reminded of a scar, and he tries not to think of _him._

 

He might’ve been in a daze one too many times last night, but it wasn’t his fault. He fucking _swears_ that it wasn’t _,_ okay? He’s tried to ignore it all—you have to believe him. It’s just that every time he’s set foot in the shop since that coincidental night, the same inane question pops into his head, repeating endlessly until it drives him insane.

 

_What if he came back?_

 

That’s it, that’s all it was. Five little fucking words that don’t mean anything at all.

 

He undresses quickly and steps under the shower head, allowing the sharp sting of searing water to ease the ache in his shoulders. He grabs Sasuke’s shampoo, _because fuck him and he hasn’t had time to go out and buy_ _a new bottle yet,_ and sniffs at the plastic cap. He gags at the sharp scent of moss and menthol and instantly feels an intense longing for his preferred strawberry soap.

 

He rinses it out in a haste and hopes that the smell doesn’t stick to his hair. He’s going to have to stop at the store after work, because there’s no way in _hell_ that he’ll willingly keep walking around with a head that smells like this shit.

 

He remembers suddenly, back at the café when Kakashi had bent down to tie his scarf for him. Naruto had lent in with closed eyes and shaky fists, his silver hair only inches away from Naruto’s face. He smelt vanilla then, so feint that he almost didn’t catch it at first.

And this is _exactly_ what he means when he says that he can’t control it. The man is like a virus running rampant in his brain, a suffocating form of malware that spreads throughout his thoughts every time he tries to kill it. 

  

He stares at the tiled walls in front of him, his vision unfocused and blurry. 

 

What’s the point of trying to fight it, anyways? He protests the thought, the notion of it all; but for what, exactly? Is he waiting for some impossible sign to tell him that everything’s alright, that it’s okay to feel this way?

 

What a fucking joke.

 

But he would be lying if he said that he isn’t scared. He’s suspicious of him, no doubt.  Why would such a successful, charming man openly flirt with Naruto, if not just for a one-night stand? Is there a chance, no matter how small, that Kakashi could actually, possibly, want him as something _more_?

 

 _No,_ Naruto thinks, _that’s exactly what I need. Just a quick fuck—no emotions, no romance._

 

Before he can stop himself, he pictures Kakashi—wet, naked, with water droplets racing down his back in a heated race. Magnificent in a thousand ways, a tantalizing dream that makes his lower abdomen pulsate at the thought.

 

He touches his left eyelid and imagines there’s a scar there instead, gently tracing his fingertips down to the corner of his small lips. He pictures scarred skin; imagines the blood washing down the drain and into the ocean.

 

What would it feel like, he wonders, to touch that scar? He would memorize the jagged edges of course, would be able to sculpt it perfectly without looking at it, only from the familiar feeling of Kakashi’s skin against his.

 

He lets his hand go lower and has it shift around his neck, let’s it graze his collarbones. His nails trace his skin, leaving white lines behind in its place as he touches his own chest. He imagines Kakashi being gentle at first, can imagine the sensation of being under him, his lips on his nipples, biting, sucking.

 

He doesn’t moan—no—he doesn’t think Kakashi would let him just yet. He imagines his burly hand hovering near his mouth, keeping him trapped in the present of frightened ecstasy. He keeps his own near his lips and moves his other lower, and lower, until his fingers are embedded in his golden-colored bush.

 

 _‘And now?’_ He fantasizes, _‘Where will you touch me now?’_

He can hear his smoky-voice, can almost feel the vibrations of it against his ear, teasing, torturing, _‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’_

He starts with slow strokes, doesn’t want to rush things, not just yet. He focuses the head, the steaming water raining from above makes Naruto gasp for air. Can picture Kakashi between his legs giving Naruto his full and undivided attention, his cheeks staining red and protruding from taking him whole. His thighs are pressed against Kakashi’s cheeks, his nose in Naruto’s lap.

 

He imagines thrusting into Kakashi’s mouth, his hand fisted in silver hair. Kakashi would choke from his sudden movement, his throat would close up slightly, tensing around Naruto. He’d look at Kakashi then, sweat-blind and babbling he’d plead, ‘ _Harder. Suck harder, Hatake-San’_. And Kakashi would, of course, because this is Naruto’s fantasy. This is his moment, his poorly-written play that’ll stay as his own dirty little secret.

 

He breathes, he moans; he loses control. He strokes faster, harder, gripping himself with enough strength to hurt. He needs it, right now, in this moment—he needs to cum. He can feel the white-hot sensation rising inside him, his toes curling, his abdomen tensing.

 

He spasms, climaxing from his own creation that plays on the backs of his eyes. The moan that escapes him echoes off the bathroom tile. He feels like he’s choking, as if he was punched in the gut and left to wallow in the aftermath of his pained-filled gasps. He’s bent over slightly, shaky and out of breath. His mind is haze-filled and crumbled, but finally, after three days of anguish, there’s no thought of him.

 

Tranquility, at last.

 

He finishes washing himself, standing there in his after-climax chill, naked and stiff and drunk off the sudden rush of endorphins. He looks at himself in the mirror and falters, briefly.

 

There’s a part of him that feels gross, a sickly feeling in his gut that pulsates when he thinks about what he just did.

 

It was certainly a sin.

 

He feels raw, vulnerable. Sickly, remorseful. It makes him want to go back and change that night, to have never have met him in the first place. Maybe then, he could go back to his blank state of mind. A canvas, unmarked.

 

_(Does he feel this, too?)_

 

But he also feels reborn, and that—strangely enough—was new.

 

He tries to shake the feeling away, attempts to avoid his reflection for the moment. He wraps a towel around his waist and hurries out the door to his bedroom. The cold temperature of the house makes him shiver, goosebumps lining his tanned skin.

 

He dresses himself quickly, cufflinks and all. Amaterasu’s uniform is not what Naruto had expected for a bookstore. Sasuke insists that proper dresswear is key to success, and Naruto has wasted far too much time trying to convince him otherwise. He simply doesn’t have the strength to fight every battle.

 

He’ll admit that their uniform is _sort of_ —ugh—stylish, consisting of a long-sleeve black button-down, tucked beneath black trousers ( _fitted, of course, always has to be perfect_ ). He hadn’t known this the first day he started, which resulted in a mildly unimpressed Uchiha, (“They need to be _properly-fitted_ , Naruto. You look like a clown.” “This is dumb, teme, no one’s even going to see it under my apron.” “I don’t _care_ , dobe, wear it.”).

 

The only leeway the employees receive is their apron; as long as the store’s logo and employee’s name are still visible, it’s safe to wear. This _might_ be one of the reasons why his apron is absolutely decimated with a variety of colors. Somehow, and he thanks his Uzumaki luck for this, he had narrowly avoided the small cursive font with his paints.

 

He wraps his scarf around his neck without taste and grabs his jacket and bag from the floor. He walks out to the entree way, passing Sasuke in the kitchen. He smells something delicious, and his stomach growls soundlessly.

 

“Watcha making?”

 

“Coffee and toast,” Sasuke replies, “Would you like some?”

 

He’s sits in front of the getabako, taking his shoes from one of the shelves. He catches his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door, and he gets that sickly feeling in his gut again. Guilt. Nausea. It makes him pause.

 

“No,” he says after a moment, “I’ll eat later.”

 

He looks at himself in the mirror again, a staring contest with himself. He can hear Sasuke’s soft footsteps against wood, the gentle pour of coffee lulling him into a false sense of comfort. He shakes his head vigorously, trying to jostle himself out of his self-induced daze.

 

 _Kakashi,_ he thinks, _I should call him._

 

He rummages in his bag for his phone and wallet, quickly swiping the card Kakashi had given him out from one of the sleeves. He holds it between his fingertips with the same amount of delicacy as that night. He flips it once, twice. Taps the number into his phone.

 

His finger hovers above the touchscreen, waiting, calculating. He feels anxiety lace through his rib cage like ribbon on the back of a corset.

 

He realizes, suddenly, that he’s never made this type of call before. This was foreign, uncomfortable. It felt as though he was painting with a blindfold. He’s never had a crush besides Sasuke—not like this.

 

There was Sakura of course, breathtaking and fierce, but that was back during middle school. That was before he was fully aware of his sexuality, and he had often confused his admiration for attraction instead.

 

Shikamaru. High school. He was wild in his own way, and he only let his hair down for Naruto. He would run his hands through his hair, softly caressing the ends that met his naked skin. They discovered themselves together, teenagers that had just stumbled upon the feeling of lust. It was new and intense, filled with addiction and confusion. It lasted for only a semester, no strings attached.

 

And then there was Sasuke, the dirty cigarette that’s still burning exactly where he left it. They’ve been best friends since elementary school. It wasn’t until his first semester of college when Sasuke had finally kissed him, and in the moment, Naruto was blinded with the sudden realization of _desire_.  He hadn’t felt that way about Sasuke before, not until his natural eloquent charm had already wrapped Naruto around his pretty little finger. His first proper relationship, terrifyingly thrilling. It had lasted up until last year.

 

He’s had time to recuperate, enough to flirt and grab a feel of what the single life actually is. He totally knows the ins and outs of all of this, no questions needed.

 

Kidding. He has no fucking idea what any of this is. It’s all new, completely and shockingly—new. He doesn’t even know anything about the man. At least with Sasuke he had already memorized everything about him, from his worst fears to what he dreams of in his sleep.

 

But Kakashi? He only knows a face, his published works, the fact that he smells vaguely of vanilla, and possibly, just maybe, a mutual attraction.

 

That last speculation is enough for him to hit dial. He holds the phone against his ear with bated breath. It rings once, and then—

 

“Hello?” Kakashi answers.

 

_Who the fuck picks up on the first ring?_

 

He’s startled, he doesn’t know what to do. Every thought has turned to nothing, every initial question—vanished.

 

“Hello?” Kakashi repeats.

 

Naruto focuses on his reflection in the mirror, a distraction from his own mistakes. His own appearance masking as a substitute for his anxiety.

 

“I’m going to hang up now.”

 

The call ends, and Naruto breathes. He hadn’t uttered a single syllable. Pathetic.

 

He rubs his eyes, counts to three, and redials the number.

 

Once again, he picks up instantly. It’s terrifying, for some reason.

 

“Who is this?” Kakashi demands, and then, “Gai, are you trying to prank me?”

 

_Okay, speak, you fucking idiot. Say something. Anything._

He can’t know. It’s too soon. There’s no time.

 

He’s too scared.

 

He lowers his voice an octave, attempts to disguise himself through the phone, “Sorry, wrong number!”

 

Before Kakashi can reply, and before Naruto can hear his velvet-smooth voice once more, he ends the call. He hangs his head between his legs, his eyes closed tight as he cringes at himself. His cheeks burn with embarrassment.

 

“I can’t _believe_ I just fucking did that.” He whines. “Shit. Shit—shit— _shit.”_

 

Because now he fucked up, now Naruto can’t even text him unless he wants Kakashi to know that it was him. Well, not with this number, at least. He could change it, possibly. It doesn’t cost much to get a new number, right? Maybe he can call again using the landline at work?

 

No. He’ll wait it out. Kakashi’s a smart man, an author. He’s organized, composed. He probably cleans his call history every week, he won’t remember today, he won’t be able to connect his number then.

 

Yeah, perfect. He’s a _genius._

 

He groans into his hands. Behind him, he hears footsteps. He stands abruptly, trying to avoid catching his reflection in the mirror. His shoes are still untied.

 

“You alright?” Sasuke asks.

 

“No. I want to—I don’t know—fall down a flight of stairs or something.”

 

He looks to Sasuke, hoping for some sort of protest. Sasuke takes a bite out of his toast, making Naruto’s stomach churn.

 

“Just do it after your shift, okay?”

 

Naruto thinks it’s well deserved.

 

Sasuke sniffs the air next to him and raises a brow.

 

“…Did you use my shampoo?”

 

“No,” Naruto says, one foot already out the door, “why would I use your shitty shampoo?”

 

“You can if you want.” He replies, locking the door behind him.

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Okay,” he smirks, “sure.”

 

“I didn’t!”

 

“I believe you.”

 

Naruto yells down the street, fingers twisted in his hair as he tries to cope with his frustration.

 

The first time he calls Kakashi is undeniably, without a doubt, horrific.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I had 9k words but I had to cut it up into multiple different chapters and edit this bit until I was somewhat satisfied. 
> 
> Was this chapter worth the wait? 
> 
> Probably not.


End file.
